Homesick
by AvocadoMash
Summary: "There's no one really willing to get close to me; I guess I'm a little bit intimidating. Hahaha… And Iggy wants nothing to do with me anymore. I mean I guess if I raised someone and they betrayed me, I wouldn't either." Arthur felt as if someone had just stabbed him in the chest. He replaced the book and bent to whisper in America's ear: "You're not alone anymore." 4-shot. Lemon
1. Not Alone

**A/N: Ok, so I have never done anything like this before, but I was inspired by a particular playlist of songs I have dedicated to USUK, so I decided to write this. I am planning on making it a three-shot, if all goes according to plan and I don't rush it like I tend to (which I didn't in this chapter!) I am also planning on doing my first lemon in the last chapter, just as a warning. This particular chapter is a bit angsty, and sort of just the intro chapter, but the future ones should be much more fluffy ^_^**

**Just in case you want to play them for this chapter, the songs that go along are For You Only by Trading Yesterday (for the top half in Alfred's POV) and Not Alone by RED (for the bottom half in Arthur's POV.)**

**Warning: Freakish amount of sentences beginning with "and" or "but." -_- I'm such a hypocrite.**

* * *

Alfred was in denial. Badly. Well, maybe that's not the right phrasing. He knew what this was, he could acknowledge it to himself; he just didn't want to. Maybe it was because that in accepting it, it would be admitting regret and the fact that him, the hero, had made a mistake; or that he knew what it was all along and had opportunity after opportunity to fix things, or at the very least mend them to the point that they could heal naturally over time, but instead he had been a coward. So, he preferred to tell himself that he was in denial, and none of it was his fault.

But that didn't stop him from moping around like a heart-broken teenager, complete with a full tub of Haagen Dazs, a box of Kleenex, and a few tragic romance chick-flicks. The first few times this particular depression hit him, Matthew had come over to keep him comfort and company; but eventually this had become somewhat of a regular routine and Alfred had learnt to cope with it without the aid of his brother.

He couldn't really avoid it, either. There were just so many triggers, so many everyday things that could suddenly cause a barrage of random, innocent, and even seemingly happy memories to assault his mind and drive him to that pathetic state. And Alfred could do nothing but sit and cry, and wonder, "why?"

Because Alfred was hopelessly homesick.

Now, being a country, homesickness, naturally, does not work the same way as human's. Being a country, homesickness was a bout of intense longing for a previous homeland of that nation's peoples; and since said homeland also had a human manifestation, it was a more peculiar longing of one country for another. A longing which Alfred was feeling acutely at that very moment.

There would be so many different things than ran through his mind. On a better day, he could sit and reminisce on happy days where he and his former mentor would be doing the simplest of things, such as playing with his wooden soldiers, or reading beneath the big tree he loved to climb as a child. Such memories only had a slight tinge of nostalgia to the taste, and although somewhat bittersweet, he preferred to linger on the sweet rather than the bitter.

But there were a great many darker days; days where the darkness itself seemed to swallow him up and spit him back out, and leave him a quivering mess; feeling lost and alone, and so very far from the home he had known, as if he were a dependent little boy all over again. He especially hated those days. Partially because he knew that those were not the emotions that a hero should be experiencing, but mostly because, even more un-heroically, he didn't know what to do about it. He would cry and shake, and his hand would be so close to picking up the phone, to calling the one person he knew could really console him and lesson the terrors of being on his own. Then he would remember; remember why he _couldn't_ do that, why he had chosen to leave in the first place. And that's what he hated most of all. So many times he had wished he had just broken down enough that he wouldn't remember, that he could swallow his cowardice-or let go and not be so brave, whichever it was- and simply call him.

Sometimes the urge to do just that, and ever-nagging _longing_ increased, almost as if in a response, like someone was calling him; and how he wished for that to be the case, but he knew that it was not.

And that very thought that killed him most of all. The knowledge that he was not only alone in the obvious sense of the word, but alone in these feelings as well; because it was extremely clear to him that he was not as missed as much as he desperately wanted to be, and he knew that because of that, nothing would ever change. There would be no one calling him from the other end of the phone because they needed him, and since he would not pick up the phone to admit how much he needed that particular someone, it all would go on as it had for the past 200 plus years.

And they would meet in their World meetings, and they would bicker, argue, and call names; and he would steal glances, and _hope_ beyond all hopes that everything he was feeling would communicate through his eyes, if only _he_ would just look. But nothing would change, and they would go home again, his façade in place and heart hopelessly lost, and he would promise himself-

_Next time, next time I'll say it for sure._

-knowing full well that it would just be another repeat of all the years past.

And here he sat, eyes red and swollen, clutching an aged photo for dear life, and praying to whatever god may be up there, for just _one chance_ to make everything all right again, to make it how it used to be. He sniffed, and his broken voice pierced the silence:

"_I miss you, England."_

* * *

Arthur hesitated at a doorway. He should knock, he knew he should; and yet he hesitated. This was the house, he was sure. He had never been here before, but he was certain without of a shadow of a doubt this was the correct address; he had taken it upon himself to firmly ingrain it into his memory the moment its occupant took up residence.

Why was he so hesitant? He wasn't…afraid. No, he couldn't be; could he? Sure, he may not have had a decent conversation with this person in decades, and the last he had known, they thought of him as an overbearing tyrant, but that didn't mean…

Screw it. He was terrified. He was almost completely sure that Alfred still hated him, and the only reason he was standing at this door now was the ever pressing, ever increasing need to finally get everything out in the open.

He knew that this was more than a bit too late for that type of conversation, but beneath that cover of a motivation he presented to himself, he had been harboring a glimmer of a fantasy where he and the American nation could relinquish their resentment towards each other and could go along just as they had so many years ago. He had squashed this down so many times, knowing that there was absolutely no reason to be wishing for something that not only was pretty much physically impossible, but also something he felt he had no right to anymore.

Regret after regret had plagued him, and there had not been a second where he didn't think that if he had a chance, he would go back and fix everything; cliché as it may sound, as all things are apt to until the moment they ring true for us. He would have done anything if it had meant Alfred would not have left him.

Not that he wasn't proud of his once-colony! He, although he hardly considered himself worthy, felt more pride over the strength, independence, and the respect America had garnered for himself than the large nation probably felt for himself.

But that did nothing to alter the fact that he missed Alfred something terribly. He was jealous every time he would look with fondness and familiarity upon another country, recalling of a time when the young boy had been solely dependent on himself. He ached to be back even on only polite, conversational terms; and more than anything to be able to hear the boy call him a friend, a mentor once more.

He shook his head to clear it. There was no time for nonsense like that. He mentally prepared himself and raised his fist to the door to knock three times. After no response for a few minutes, he tried the bell. When he still heard nothing and the door was not opened, he grew confused. He had followed Alfred home from a meeting a few hours prior, so he knew he had gone home; and he had stood watch the entire time, willing himself to walk up to that door, and had not witnessed any departure from the house.

Either Alfred knew it was him at the door and was purposely ignoring him, or he wasn't able to come to the door. He had frightening feeling it was the former.

He tried the knob out of curiosity, and with raised brows, swung the unlocked door open. _That's definitely not safe._ He took a few cautious steps into the dark hall before venturing into the unlit living-space. There, curled up into a ball of comforters and in a nest of used tissues on the couch, sat a sleeping Alfred.

Arthur tiptoed over to peer at his face, immediately worried for his health. What he found shocked him more than anything had that past decade. Dried tears evident upon the boy's cheeks, proof that he cried himself to sleep very shortly before, were the stand-out. What had caused his strong-no, _not_ his anymore- this strong nation to _cry himself to sleep?_

He observed the items at Alfred's feet, propped up on the coffee table, and discovered a few sappy movies –_that had better not be it–_ and an open notebook.

Glancing back at the now snoring lump to make sure he would not be waking any time soon, he reached down to investigate the contents of the book; what he saw broke his heart. Page after page was filled of recounts of days filled with loneliness, confusion, and…homesickness? For _him_?!

Arthur took a staggering step back. There was just _no way-_ I mean, Alfred had left of his own free will, so this couldn't…he had just been so _sure_ that he had been the only one suffering the after effects of the American Revolution; it was…it was…

He looked back to the page he had flipped to.

_I tried becoming friends with other countries to see if that would help me feel any better. Japan is cool, and it was cool to get to know Mattie better, but…it just wasn't the same. It's not what I want._

_There's no one really willing to get close to me; I guess I'm a little bit intimidating. Hahaha…_

_And Iggy wants nothing to do with me anymore. I mean I guess if I raised someone and they betrayed me like that, I wouldn't either. But a guy can dream, right?_

Arthur dropped the book alarmed as Alfred suddenly rolled over. _"England…" _he sighed.

Arthur felt as if someone had just stabbed him in the chest. Now it was all starting to make sense…how Alfred would stare at him during meetings, why he always addressed him first, why he would follow him around. He wasn't trying to spite him or annoy him; it had been his own way of asking for forgiveness.

The Brit gave a tearful smile in Alfred's direction. He was resolved now; he would give him everything he had missed in the past years; he would be the friend that the American nation was desperate for.

For a moment he was tempted to wake him, but decided that the best way to help him would not be by damaging his pride; no, he would get him to open up to him on his own. Arthur replaced the book into its original position, and bent over to whisper in America's ear:

"_You're not alone anymore."_

* * *

**A/N: Ok, to be completely honest, I'm not expecting much feedback for this chapter, and as I'm re-reading it, I'm not really liking it -_- But if you stick with me, I promise the next chapters will be better. Oh, and if anyone is interested in my USUK playlist (which is a bunch of songs that just remind me of the couple) just message me and I can give it to you. :)**


	2. Friends

**A/N: Hello, it's me again, with a super fast update! Which actually tends to be a bad thing, because when I get too enthusiastic about a fic and update quickly, my inspiration leaves just as quick if I don't pace myself and I end up not updating (hehe anyone here reading my other USUK fic, Lovers Doll?) which is why I limited myself to a three-shot. This chapter didn't really end up how I wanted it, but I realized that for this to remain a three-shot and to be able to balance everything the way I wanted, I had to reserve some things for the next chapter (and this seemed a good place to stop, considering the material before the planned lemon will be relatively short.) All in all, these past two chapters have seemed to me to be just necessary background material leading to the final chapter so it didn't end as a pwp. Really, I'm not sure if I even consider these past two chapters part of the story. It's just like need to know stuff for my headcanon universe. Ok, enough rambling that you're probably not reading.**

**Reviewer addresses: Because it's a pain in the butt to look up and type out names, you know you who you are! One reviewer asked for an update on Lovers Doll, so just FYI that is in the workings (but I'm just a bit stuck) but I really don't intend on putting that out before the final installment of this fic, unless inspiration hits me. **

**Another reviewer requested my USUK playlist in an A/N, so I will be putting that in my final chapter because I'm too lazy to type it all out now.**

**Now the songs for this chapter (I appointed them because I was just listening to Evanescence while writing this ^_^) are Hold On by Avril Lavigne and Start Again by RED (yes, them again. They have GREAT USUK songs. Seriously. Their best one is Hymn for the Missing, to which I made a picture video on youtube, if you wanna check it out. It's the only one, surprisingly, done to that song.) Idk how much they make sense with this chapter, but I picked them, so deal with it.**

**On a side not (my last one, promise!) I think that the real inspiration songs for this fic are Alone by Jason Walker and A Thousand Years by Christina Perri. I LOVE those songs. Okay, you are now free to read.**

* * *

Arthur took in a deep breath and shook himself mentally. Here he stood at the doors of the meeting hall for day two of the World meetings, and he was too scared to step through that door.

_Yet again_. He sighed. Really, he was a tad anxious to go through and to the boy he wished to see again, but there still lingered remaining doubts in his mind about what he had seen the day before. _What if Alfred decides it's too late and rejects me? What if I was misinterpreting and he still loathes me? What if…What if?"_

He couldn't seem to stop thinking "what if." He shook his head; no, he would treat these nagging feelings just like he had all other unnecessary thoughts over the past few years. They were unimportant, and he had no time for such things. Alfred was much more important than his miniscule fears.

He took a final, steadying breath and opened the large doors.

It was rather unceremonious for what he felt he was stepping into; every country was just as they usually were. The ones that bickered stood bickering over to the side, and the more peaceful countries sat in their seats waiting until Germany snapped and started the meeting. For the most part, no one seemed to recognize that he had arrived.

_For the most part. _"Ah, Arthur, you have finally graced us with your presence!"

Arthur groaned mentally. With all his internal struggles over the past few hours, he had forgotten the one person he might have possibly been dreading more.

"Sod off, you bloody frog! I'm not in the mood for your provoking today."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind, _mon amant?"_

"You could say that." Arthur growled, with no further comment. Francis let him push past, curious as to what the Brit was up to.

Arthur spotted America quite easily. He was laughing loudly at the very head of the table, with Japan and…and empty seat beside him! Oh that was a stroke of luck-wait, no; there was that one boy (Canada, was it?) occupying that seat, now that he looked again. Well, the seat next to Canada was open.

Arthur tried to discretely take the seat, but Alfred shot him an inquisitive glance; he usually sat farther down the table, closer to France (so he could bash the git's head in when he started on the British insults.)

England merely held his gaze and offered a tentative smile. Alfred seemed taken aback, then furrowed his brows in confusion.

The meeting progressed after that with more slowness than it had before, Arthur getting more and more impatient for it to just be done so that he could talk to Alfred. He fidgeted in his seat, not really paying attention to what was said, shooting anxious glances back to Alfred every few moments.

Alfred himself seemed to get more uneasy with each of the glances that he caught, and seeing as how he never paid attention anyway, he simply fixed his stare on England, as if daring him to look back again. Arthur did, and Alfred being the hero, refused to look away before he did.

Francis observed this little staring exchange from farther down the table, amusedly.

When all the nations had _finally_ finished their piece, Alfred shoved his seat back roughly and stalked over to where Arthur was timidly_ (timidly? Since when had Arthur ever been timid?) _sitting and plopped his hands on the table.

"Dude! What was with that earlier?!"

"Oh..uh…um, I just…" Arthur stammered, now at a loss as to how to say what he wanted to.

"Were you just trying to get a rise outta me? Cause you know that kinda thing doesn't work on me."

"No! That's not what I was doing at all!" England sighed to calm himself back down. "I-I was wondering if you would be so kind as to join me for lunch today." He got out somewhat confidently.

"Wha-" America took a step back, surprise clearly written on his face. "Why would you want to eat lunch with me?"

"Oh, you know, to uh…" England felt his throat drying up, "…catch up and…stuff. Yea." He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

"You serious?"

Arthur raised one bushy brow. "If I wasn't, it wouldn't be a very funny joke."

Alfred still seemed to hesitate a moment, looking down at his feet as he shuffled them in thought.

"…sure."

* * *

Alfred was having a difficult time wrapping his mind around the current situation. Not only had someone taken the time out of their day to speak with him and ask him to lunch, but _Arthur_ of all people. On top of that, after leaving the meeting hall thingy or whatever, he had slipped back to his natural persona and started rambling on about whatever crossed his mind, like usual; but unlike usual, Arthur had not snapped at him, had not told him he was annoying or to shut up. He had simply nodded his head and smiled, and responded when required. To top it all off, he had led the both of them to a McDonalds of all things, with no request on Alfred's part. The only way he could really make sense of it was, well…

"Hey," Alfred suddenly broke from his thoughts as the addressed Brit was taking a bit of his fish sandwich, "Is there something you wanted? From me?"

Arthur looked caught off guard. "What?"

"Well I can't figure out why else you would be spending time with someone you really can't stand; if you had really wanted to 'catch up' you wouldn't have waited 200 years."

Arthur immediately felt the guilt crush him like a heavy weight. "Alright, first off: there has never been a time when I particularly disliked your company. Yes, you can get on my nerves, but everyone I know does just as often." Arthur stopped to make a distasteful face, and Alfred looked like he wanted to interject, but England held up a hand to stop him.

"And secondly…" Arthur thought for a moment. He wasn't really sure how he wanted to address this issue. Well, honesty was probably best. "Secondly I, well, really thought you were the one who despised me all these years."

Alfred's eyes widened dramatically for the second time that day. "You-you- why would'ja think that?!"

"Well, not picking a fight or anything, you were the one who left _me_; and it's not as if you made and particular efforts to speak to me in those years either."

Alfred slumped back in his seat to let the information process.

"So…you don't really hate me?"

"America, lad, I never have, and I never will." He let his hand to come to rest atop Alfred's, in what he was hoping to be a reassuring gesture.

Alfred opened and closed his mouth like a fish, seemingly unable to form words to reply.

Arthur, sensing the situation, continued: "And as for your first inquiry, I do want something from you." he grinned a bit nervously. "I want to be your friend again."

* * *

**Okaaaaay...so whatcha think? I know, I wouldn't expect this to be a three-shot with a lemon in the next chapter if I was reading this and things were progressing at this pace, but I promise I have it all worked out! The next chapter will probably just be two times longer...**

**Anywho, What did you think? I would REAAAAAAAALLY love some feedback, cause it gets me going and pushes me to keep at it when I get stuck. And shout outs to you guys who DID review (and faved&followed) last chapter, you guys ROCK! I seriously wasn't expecting that many reviews, cause that chapter kinda sucked lol. And this one does too -_- On second thought, feel no pressure to review. I don't deserve it right now. *Totally NOT trying to get pity reviews***


	3. Confusion

**A/N: OMG I'm so sorry this took so long! I promise you I have literally been working on this almost whenever I had time, but things have gotten so hectic lately. My father had a pancreatitis attack and had to have his gallbladder removed, and I've had to watch my 5 siblings and take care of the house while my mom tends to him. Its times like these that I hate homeschooling -_-**

**Anywho, as to this chapter: As one of my reviewers so kindly suggested, I have broken the final chapter into two parts. That's right, this chapter has no lemon :( BUT DON'T CLICK AWAY FOLKS! Since I only split it, the second half IS completed and in doc manager, so all I have to do is upload it, which I am planning to do Friday. Oh, and as to the reviewer who told me to do this, YOU ARE AWESOME! YOUR REVIEW LITERALLY MADE ME SQUEAL! I would put your name, but  
****I'm too lazy to look it up :P**

**Okay, so my songs for this chapter are Innocence by Avril Lavigne (yes, her again.) and Best is Yet to Come by RED (Yes, they are officially my USUK band XD)**

* * *

Alfred finished moving the last of his many trash bags to the curb. Arthur was coming to stay with him for the duration of the next week of World meetings, (and a few days before so they could spend extra time together) and he had been doing a little cleaning so the grumpy old coot wouldn't be on his ass.

It had been six months since Alfred and Arthur had mended and became "friends" again. "Friends," because Alfred really didn't know how to describe their relationship. They seemed somehow closer than friends, like any people who had grown up together and knew a great many things about the other that even their closest friends did not. No matter how long they had been apart, there would always be a history between them, despite whatever their relationship.

And yet, Alfred felt as if what they had was so much more fragile than anything he had ever experienced before. There was that trust, that bond that had once been severed, that no manner of words could mend faster than time and healing would provide. He felt also, due to the insecurities of being alone and unloved, that he needed to remain in almost constant contact else their communications ceased all together and they dropped back to "hating" each other.

Not that Arthur seemed to mind in the slightest; in fact, it was almost as if he felt the need Alfred did and texted and called him almost as much as the American did him. They had been seeing much more of each other than they used to, also. Both of them only really being close with Kiku, instead of merely meeting up one on one with him, they would all meet up together for a rather fun time. Alfred had also made a few trips to England in his spare time (translate: when he was bored and too lazy to do his work.) and hung out at Arthur's house, bothering him during his work the whole time.

Whatever fears the Brit had had about scaring Alfred off with his snarky comments and sour attitude had dispelled, and he was back to his regular, grumpy, British self; and Alfred was quite content with that. That was, after all, the England he fell in love with.

And this would be the first time he would be visiting _his_ house. (Or so he thought.) He was slightly frantic in worrying over whether his house was going to be clean _enough_, despite his devoted attentions to it. He was almost desperate to please the Briton. He was more worried, however, about himself this specific visit. He had one particular dream the other night about how he had accidentally let his secret slip, and his feelings being unrequited, he found himself subjected once again to humiliation, loneliness, and rejection. That dream was enough to probably leave him paranoid the entire visit.

His heart leaped into his throat as he realized with mild panic - and a glance at his watch - that it was, indeed, two-o'clock, as the used rental car pulled into his driveway. He set his nervousness aside when his joy at finally seeing England again kicked in, with as much force as ever.

"IGGY!" He screamed, bounding over to the man who had barely stepped from the vehicle. Without a moment to process what had happened, the smaller man was quickly enveloped in a crushing hold from an over-exuberant American.

Nevertheless, he couldn't resist a breathy chuckle and a pat to the arms around his chest.

"…Good to see you too, lad."

Reluctant to let go, but feeling awkward if he shouldn't, Alfred was forced to release him.

"So, dude, I like totally have this week planned out, from day one! I kinda left today open, in case you want to catch up on some sleep, but tomorrow we are going to so go…"

Arthur nodded amusedly as the boy began rambling, and being a bit too jet-lagged to really listen, he allowed himself to be led to his bedroom without any input on the "conversation."

* * *

Lounging on the couch, Arthur heaved a sigh and checked the clock. Again. It had been two days since Arthur had arrived, and true to his word, Alfred had planned the next few days for him. The sentiment was very sweet in his opinion, as he knew the boy to not be a planner of any sort. He also felt rather touched by the time the American had set aside simply for them to talk, which they had been doing an awful lot of. It meant a great deal to him that he wanted so much to become closer and get to know him all over again (not that he had really changed at all.)

But fun time was over, and he and Alfred were supposed to be heading out today to pick up their paperwork and briefings for the upcoming meeting, but Al had decided on a shower first.

So Arthur had waited. And waited. And waited. At first he thought it his impatience making the clock tick slower, but as he kept glancing at it, he realized that Alfred really was taking a very long time.

With a frustrated growl, the irritated Brit shoved himself from the couch and went stomping to the master bedroom.

The sounds of running water from behind the bathroom that was within the room told him that Alfred was indeed _still_ in the shower.

With nothing better to do, Arthur took a seat on the red, white, and blue bedspread to wait, and cast his glance about the room.

Nothing really out of the ordinary, and a great deal neater than he would have expected; there were only a handful of McDonald's wrappers near the trash bin, which they had probably been chucked at (and missed.)

Various pieces of memorabilia adorned the walls, such as an original thirteen-star American flag (with which he was well-familiar with,) portraits and paintings of various presidents, colonial themed relics (such as old pistols, bonnets, and hats,) and last but not least, a picture of England himself.

It was an old picture, dating from around a time when cameras had hardly even been invented, and it was worn and faded. He was posing with the queen, although that half of the picture was more faded than the rest. It appeared to be an original copy, and he wondered how America had gotten it.

Still looking around, he caught sight of Alfred's leather-bound notebook that he had flipped through before, resting on the bedside bureau.

Certain that the owner of the book would not be exiting the shower anytime soon, his curiosity coupled with his impatience and boredom compelled him to scan through it again.

Flipping to recent entries, because he was well aware of the past, he started off with one dated only a few moths ago.

His eyes lit with relief at the tone of the entry, much lighter than the first, and recounting a meeting he had been to with Arthur himself.

As he went through, page by page, skimming over the words, the amused upturn of his lips slowly quirked into a frown.

Every single entry was filled to the brim with nothing but him, their conversations, his stories, habits, and looks, every time they had met in the past few months.

Maybe he _was_ the boy's only real friend, but wasn't this becoming a little obsessive? Alfred was full grown, and this type of dependency might not be healthy for him…

Arthur's thoughts were swiftly interrupted by a low moan from the bathroom door. At first he was worried something had happened, such a slip and fall; but another few moans and gasps confirmed something else entirely, and England's face erupted into flames.

He knew that he should have gotten up and left that room, and that he shouldn't have even _been_ in there in the first place, but something rooted him to his spot. As the sounds continued to assault his ears, he found his blush rising, and some very unbidden images came parading across his mind.

He smacked himself across the face.

_No. I cannot be thinking this._

But goddamn it, he couldn't help himself. Alfred just sounded so _hot._

Wait. Hot? Since when had he ever thought of Alfred as _hot_?!

That was what made him get up and practically flee the room, with the sudden realization that he now had a little problem of his own; but he didn't step out the door before he heard Alfred's final groan:

"Arthuuuur…"

* * *

Arthur pulled the comforter of his bed further around his shoulders and rocked back and forth. He had been mulling hours over the incident, probing possibilities of what it could have meant. The answer was obvious, really, but he didn't want to think that's what it was.

That meant that all over again, he had been an oblivious fool and was brought to question his own feelings. Only this time it was much harder.

It shouldn't have been, if his little _reaction_ earlier had been anything to go by; but yet again, he didn't want to accept that. After all they had been through and what he had done, it just didn't seem right. It was all too easy, and he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around it.

Pulled from his thoughts for a third time that evening by a knocking at the door, Arthur yelled out:

"I'm _fine_, you bloody git! I'm just a little tired and I need some rest!"

Alfred obviously didn't get the hint, because he opened the door immediately after that.

"Yea, yea, I know Artie. I brought you some soup."

Arthur's face softened, and even amidst his mental and emotional confusion, he found himself appreciative of the gesture and offered a thankful smile.

Sitting the bowl on the side-dresser, the large American plopped himself on the bed in front of the blanket mound and grabbed an unhidden hand.

"Now Artie, how 'bout you tell me what's on your mind?"

Arthur looked up alarmed, prompting Alfred to laugh.

"Don't give me that look! I know you well enough that I can tell when something's bothering you and when you're really not feeling well."

Arthur turned his head to the side with a slight blush, unsure of how to respond. There are a plethora of answers begging to be said, but he figured _"I want to fuck you and I don't know how to deal with it"_ probably wasn't the way to go.

His brain must have been too muddled with sorting out the various replies that one must have slipped out on its own, because he most certainly did _not_ tell himself to blurt:

"Do you love me?"

Alfred's jaw dropped before he started opening and closing his mouth like a fish. "…What?" he squeaked.

"You heard me." Arthur mumbled back, knowing it was too late to take it back.

"I-uh…Um.." Alfred couldn't seem to articulate any words, or even form any coherent thoughts through the sound of blood rushing to his head. "How…what made you think that?"

Arthur couldn't help himself now. "Your reaction, just now." He smirked, feeling rather devious.

Alfred seemed to deflate. "…Oh."

Arthur waited for something further, but not a sound was made. He began to get rather uncomfortable with the mounting silence, and placed his hand on the poor boy's shoulder.

"…You weren't supposed to find out." He barely caught the whisper. "Now everything is going to be ruined and you'll hate me again."

Arthur felt himself get slightly angry. He smacked the boy lightly across the cheek. "I've told you, more than once, that I don't hate you.' I never have, and I never will.' Why would I go back on my word?"

"…But things will be different now. You'll start avoiding me more, and I know you won't ever look at me the same."

Arthur grew a bit more irritated. "You insufferable git. Of course I won't see you the same, nor do I want to."

Alfred's shoulders sagged more, and Arthur dragged him up by his coat collar.

And quickly mashed their lips together.

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**D: DUN DUN DUUUN! I feel so evil! It's my first cliff hanger! ...not that you don't know what's coming next :P**

**Ok, so IMPORTANT THINGY YOU NEED TO READ AND NOT SKIP OVER 'CAUSE MY NOTES ARE LONG AND RAMBLY! I have a contest I'm running for you guys *cough cough andselfpromotion cough cough* I mentioned about my USUK youtube video I made before to Hymn for the Missing by RED, and I'm at a loss as to how to get views, so my brilliant idea is this: The first person to leave a comment (put your username in your review) on my video will get a oneshot request of their choice! I'll do any pairing that I don't absolutely loathe, and for any fandom I am familiar with.**

**And thanks for all the amazing support I've gotten from you guys, it means so much! And I would totally appreciate BEYOND belief if you guys would give me a review, even if it's just a smiley face :) In fact, if I get at least 3 people asking, I will upload the grand finale to this fic before Friday, if that's what you guys would like.**


	4. LEMON!

**A/N: T.T *sniffles* Ok, I'm really sorry if my last chapter was no good! I really tried! Honest I did! But...no reviews? Not even one? :(**

**I tried my hardest on this chapter, I literally went all nitpicky on the minor details and did it over like 5 times! It's my first lemon though, so don't expect too much :/ BUT, I did make a small mistake that was too long for me to fix...I accidentally changed the tense! I hope it doesn't bother you too much.**

**Well, anyway...the songs for this chapter are Forevermore by Broken Iris (most amazing unknown band EVER .) and All Around Me by Flyleaf. Read on, nonexistent readers...**

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Alfred's eyes widen, and remain so until Arthur releases him.

"A-Artie…?"

Arthur glares at him. "Here I was, sitting in this room miserably, berating myself for being an oblivious fool; now I feel twice the fool for thinking myself the only one. Bloody git."

Alfred takes a moment to process this, and his face brightens enough to light up the dim room.

"Artie, does this mean…?"

"Artie" smacks him on top of his thick skull with an increasingly red face. "What do you think, wanker?"

They both make eye contact, just looking at each other before mutually realizing what has just been confessed.

Alfred begins to lean forward in an attempt to find Arthur's mouth, but he doesn't have to lean far, as Arthur had leant to meet him halfway. Both of them feel something, something, expanding and heating up within them; both of them had waited and wanted for so long, and now that they had tasted, they were hungry for more. The simple kiss grew in a matter of minutes; Alfred's tongue tangled with Arthur's, and the Brit wound his hands into his hair for a few tugs.

Alfred pulled him into his lap by the shirt, legs on either side of him, and deepened the kiss, if possible. His senses were clouded by Arthur; and only Arthur. Alfred feels almost embarrassed as to how obvious it is the Brit knows what he's doing, and guiding him along; but still there is a small sense of pride that he doesn't know what he's doing, because Arthur is his very first.

They both lean away, gasping, and Alfred automatically falls back onto the bed, pulling Arthur with him. This time he buries his hands in the other's hair, and tries desperately to keep up with his lips. His mind is going blissfully blank, so consumed with nothing but just feeling in that moment. He feels the faint brush of fingertips at his sides, underneath his t-shirt, turning into more sensual caresses over his chest and down his stomach.

Arthur pulls away and Alfred hears the faint whisper of his name, heavy with longing. Something is lit inside his belly and suddenly he finds himself aching for more. Arthur moves his mouth down to a sensitive earlobe and nips first, then sucks. Alfred blindly grabs at the man on top of him and moans. That mouth then continues to trace its way down the side of his neck, before kissing its way back up and peppering his mouth with smaller kisses than before.

Arthur pulls upright, straddling him, and Alfred almost follows as to not lose contact, but he gently is shoved back. The Brit then swiftly throws his shirt to the side in one fluid motion, and tugs at Alfred's to indicate he wants him to do the same. He does, with a bit of fumbling, and immediately pulls Arthur back down to crash their lips together.

But this time it's different; he can feel Arthur's skin on him, touching so closely, and yet he wants to feel more. He can feel the heat radiating from his body and seeming to fill his, and fueling that fire inside of him. He can feel most thoroughly though, how Arthur is feeling as much as he is.

Arthur lets his hands travel down his chest again, stopping to tweak the pink buds there. Alfred loses it and snaps his hips up, meeting the other's. His mind goes blank; Arthur grinds down on him and he can't help the small yelp leaving his lips. With every motion, he feels his mind leave him, and just when he feels it is coming back, the pressure returns.

He is steadily moaning now, and throwing his head back into the pillow, unable to open his eyes. And all of a sudden, all the weight is suddenly gone. He manages to open his eyes to see Arthur propping himself above him on one arm, the other hand ghosting over his extremely evident arousal.

Alfred hears the low voice in his ear:

"Let me touch you."

And he barely is able to nod. In a moment, the button is undone and the zipper is down, and those fingers, those fingers-the very ones he had imagined so many times, on him and holding him, only to wake from his fantasy and have the loneliness of reality come crashing down upon him-they are touching him now.

His fist flies to his mouth to muffle the sounds he can't control, and Arthur, his weight now on his knees, uses his extra hand to move it back away.

"No, let them out; let me hear."

That sends something shooting though him, almost as amazing as the hand now curling around him was. As it started to move up and down, he arched with a sharp intake of breath.

This is beyond anything he's ever experienced before; and this is beyond anything he ever thought he would ever experience. He had gotten himself off before, sure, but this was Arthur's touch; and even though his brain was as good as mush at the moment, he still realized, in some small part in the back of his head, playing like background noise:

He's here. He's with me. I'm not alone anymore.

The pace of that hand increased, and even that echoing thought was driven away. The pleasure, the sheer pleasure was driving him insane; and with his toes curling and legs twitching, he felt something coil in his stomach. Then something snapped; everything went white, and all he had ever felt before paled in comparison to that one moment in time.

Arthur looked below him at his handiwork: the flushed face, tousled hair, and chest heaving with pants.

Beautiful.

As Alfred returned from his high, he recognized Arthur's tongue tracing down his cheek, ridding the few tears that had leaked. He also felt how hard Arthur still was.

After taking a few more minutes to recover himself, he pulled Arthur down for another kiss, much sweeter this time. "Thank you." He whispers into the Brit's ear.

Arthur shivers and kisses back in reply. As he traces his hand up the American's arm to intertwine the fingers lying above his head, Alfred feels a reawakening, despite the release he had just experienced. He gives a slight nudge with his hips, and this time the kiss is broken for Arthur to issue a needy moan. His head drops into the crook of Alfred's neck and he inhales deeply.

"Arthur…?"

"I'm fine, Love."

Alfred frowns at that. "But I want you to feel good too."

Arthur gasps as he is pulled down onto Alfred's lips, the kiss heated and passionate. Alfred strokes Arthur's body now, swirling his thumb on his hipbones before travelling lower and rubbing over the bulge in his pants.

Arthur looses a close-lipped groan, and starts feeling like he might soon forget how to breathe. Alfred kicks his own pants down, tugging at the other's meanwhile. Their boxers are lost next, and Alfred sits Arthur in his lap once more, their uncovered erections lightly brushing.

A similar sound is made by both of them, and Arthur reaches his slender hand to wrap around both of their sensitive members. He starts with slow, steady stokes, causing both of them to throw their heads back in ecstasy.

Alfred reaches his much larger hand forward to encase Arthur's, speeding up the pace.

The warmth is rising, and his body feels overheated. Little sparks are shooting up his spine with every stroke, as if Arthur's hand was electric. Alfred knows he won't last much longer when he feels a familiar tightening in his stomach, and he retracts his hand, along with the smaller.

"In…the top…drawer…." He manages to breathe out, gesturing to the bedside table.

Arthur raises a bushy brow, but complies, reaching in it to find and retract a small bottle of lube. His mouth dries.

"You want to…?"

Alfred blushes, (further, in Arthur's opinion,) and nods. Arthur looks hesitant, prompting Alfred to reach up and touch his cheek.

"I know it'll hurt, Artie; but I don't care. I've wanted it too much and for too long to really care. And…and I don't want to miss out on another chance for something with you that I'll regret later…like I have before. And I want this connection with you- no, I need it."

Arthur gave a raspy chuckle. "You cheesy git…"

The cap of the lube is flipped open, and half the slippery fluid is poured over slim fingers. Alfred bites his lip cutely as those fingers brush over his entrance and position themselves.

He expects pain, but on the first finger it just feels…strange; and so very intimate. He felt the finger pump a few times before the second was added, this time discomfort joining. As the fingers start scissoring, Arthur must have noticed his uneasiness, because he reaches his hand to stroke his hair and whisper soothing words.

When the third finger enters, Alfred's eyes, which he had not realized had slipped shut, snap open. There was a definite pain with it, and he could feel himself being stretched past what was comfortable.

The motion of Arthur's hand continued, however, and Alfred found himself enjoying it; eventually even thrusting his hips to try to get more. That's when the fingers retracted, with a small mewl of disappointment from him.

He calmed down though, as he watched Arthur pour the remainder of the bottle onto his hand to slick himself up.

Arthur pulls Alfred's legs to wrap around his waist, grasping his thighs. He feels the heat of something much larger nudging his entrance now, and he has to hold himself back from wantonly shoving himself onto it.

Arthur looks into Alfred's perfect, almost enchanting blue eyes and has to catch his breath again.

"Ready, poppet?"

Alfred can scarcely manage a nod of affirmation, his chest feels so tight with anticipation. Arthur slowly nudges himself in, and the blond below him feels the burn as he is being inched into. When he was completely full, he released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The pain was extremely evident, but simmering beneath it was that feeling of not being empty that almost seemed to overtake the pain.

Alfred strokes the head of the Brit lying on his chest to let him know he is okay, and he begins to move. The pace is slow, and so gentle that the American can hardly stand it.

"Artie, more. Faster!" He whines.

Arthur struggles to speak. "I-I was trying to be considerate here."

Alfred merely tightened his legs around the Brit's waist to pull him in further. Arthur grips the blond boy's hips and starts thrusting faster, changing angles every few thrust, looking for something. And he found it.

"AAAAAaaaahhhh…" Stars danced before Alfred's eyes as Arthur hit a spot deep inside him, and repeatedly did so in response to his reaction.

The speed was increasing, and the heat between them was as well. The friction was almost too much with the repeated pleasing of his prostate, and when Arthur reached forward to aid his neglected, leaking member, he lost it.

The sounds spilling forth from his lips were unrecognizable as his own; his lover's grunts and groans tossed in along with them. They were both quickly coming undone, the thrusts losing precision and timing and becoming more wild, and Alfred feeling as though he were merely gripping at a slippery edge, so close to falling over and into that deep abyss.

"Mhmm…Al…I-love…you!" The phrase was not seductively whispered into his ear, but rather forced out between heavy breathes and grunts; but that was still all it took for Alfred.

His insides clenched and his stomach spasmed as his seed released all over his chest. Arthur gasped at the sudden tightness and found himself coming as well.

He collapsed, dizzy, on Alfred's body after withdrawing himself, panting into his neck. He felt the boy's chest begin to heave irregularly, and realized with a sudden jerk upright, that he was crying.

"Alfred, Love, what's wrong? Did it hurt too much?"

Alfred quickly shook his head back and forth. He tried to explain as the tears morphed into a blissful laugh:

"No, Artie…I'm-I'm home. I'm finally home."

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**Aaaand...that's it. My first real completed story. *sighs* That was disappointingly un-climatic. But still, I beg you, PLEAAAAASE REVIEW! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! Just think, if you count on someone else to do it, then no one ever will! I wanna know how I did on my first lemon!**


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